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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27706823">A Life Well Lived</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/morgana07/pseuds/morgana07'>morgana07</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Supernatural</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Angst, Canon Death, Emotional Hurt, Emotional Sam Winchester, Gen, Gen Work, Grieving Sam Winchester, Mention of Death, Older Sam Winchester, Other: See Story Notes, Season/Series 15, Spoilers, Tags May Change, Tissues</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 07:08:11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,092</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27706823</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/morgana07/pseuds/morgana07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>1-shot. Sam Winchester’s life changed drastically, in the blink of an eye. To keep a promise, he carried on the only way he felt he could until he finally could go ‘home’.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>43</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>A Life Well Lived</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Tag: 15x20 Carry On</p><p>Spoilers: Yes, so if you haven’t seen the finale you might want to hold off on this until you have.</p><p>Warnings: Tissues (Yes, I’m tossing up a tissue warning for this one just to be safe) and spoilers. Also read the second author note.</p><p>Beta’d By: cyncitymojo and JaniceC678</p><p>Author Note: This is my first attempt at writing a piece set for the series finale. It came into my head like it starts and just went from there. I also started crying 140 words in, so I am tossing out a possible tissue warning as I know most people don’t cry as easily as I do. Also, a huge thanks to lortspnfangirl for the summary help.</p><p>Author Note II: Just a small side-note as this gen style fic was originally published as another type of story under my other pen name of morganadw. A friend suggested tweaking it a little as it fit this style as well for those that didn’t read the other kind and would like to see how Sam went on. For those that read both styles I wanted to explain if you happen to see a similar in some aspects story. I am the same person. 😊</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p><strong>A Life Well Lived</strong> </p><p>The pain never really went away. The grief of that night in a barn in Ohio diminished only a little unless he thought about it, or a memory would come up that reminded him of Dean, and then for Sam Winchester it felt just like the day he watched his older brother die.</p><p>The guilt of not being able to save his brother, of not watching his back in the vampire fight that ultimately cost Dean Winchester his life and then, for the first time in years, having to let the brother that had meant so much to him in so many ways die rather than find some way to bring him back nearly destroyed Sam.</p><p>Dean’s words were still in Sam’s ears and in his heart every day, every year that now passed since that tragic night.</p><p>“‘<em>Hey, I’m not leaving you. I’m gonna be with you. Right here. Every day. Every day you’re out there and you’re… you’re livin’, and you’re fighting cause you… you always keep fighting. You hear me? I’ll be there. Every step</em>.’”</p><p>The halting words had come with a touch to Sam’s heart. There were still times as these many years passed when things got bad or he was in a bad way that he would hear Dean’s deep voice and feel a touch either over his heart or brushing along the back of his neck like his brother would do at times when offering a loving touch of comfort throughout his life from the time he was small and Dean was not just his brother, but mother, father, protector, and best friend….his soul mate. Even before hearing the words spoken on that fateful trip to heaven so many years ago, Sam had known it somewhere deep within himself and knew that Dean felt it too.</p><p>The promise to go on, to keep fighting, was one Sam tried to keep. He did try to carry on the Winchester legacy, to hunt, to save people, but had to eventually come to understand that this might be the one way he might disappoint the brother he had loved.</p><p>After carrying out the final act, an act Sam had always said he’d never do, and giving his brother a hunter’s funeral, he had returned to the Men of Letters bunker. But after a few weeks with just him and Miracle roaming the now empty halls, it quickly became plain to the younger Winchester that nearly everything in the place reminded him of Dean -- eating alone, staring at their initials carved into the table or, when he finally could handle the grief, visiting Dean’s room, the room that still radiated with his brother’s energy that he had been unable to enter since returning alone.</p><p>Flipping the light on, Sam had nearly gone to his knees because the room still looked like it had the last time Dean had left it; messy bed, clothes tossed around, a file opened on the desk.  But what had hurt the most for Sam was that he could still smell Dean’s aftershave on the towel he absently picked up from the floor.</p><p>Hearing the dog whine, Sam had sat down to pet him and looked around at the guns on Dean’s walls and had a brief moment where he had considered if taking one down and just using it on himself might not be best for him.</p><p>Both Jody and Donna had offered to either come stay with him or to have him come up to their places until some of the grief had passed, but Sam had politely refused, just as he had refused their offers to come to the funeral.</p><p>He had appreciated both lady sheriffs’ offers and knew he might have been a bit selfish to refuse that since he understood they and others loved and respected Dean, but for Sam, whose heart and soul had also both died a little that day, he just hadn’t wanted anyone else there for that private moment.</p><p>The ringing of a phone from inside the desk drawer is all that stopped Sam from doing what he had been considering. The call from Austin, Texas, about what Sam knew was a werewolf just by being told the hearts had been ripped out, gave him the chance to think about what Dean had taught him, instilled in him, and he figured, if he was going to go out in any way, then it would be like his brother, fighting to save innocent lives.</p><p>That was the last day Sam was ever in that bunker. He packed the things that were the most important to him, locked other things down and wrote out instructions for anyone who might find the building in the future. Then he and the dog left for one final hunt.</p><p>Sam took out the werewolves that were killing people, saving some victims in the process. Even though he had done so without a scratch, that hunt had made it plain that, no matter how much he wanted to do what Dean told him to, the memories of riding in the Impala while Dean drove and staying at awful motels or roadside diners with bad food were just too much for him to handle. He would never be able to get past the grief when he was living a constant reminder of what he had lost.</p><p>There was also the risk to others. Sam understood only too well that a hunter not fully in the game mentally or distracted could get others killed, and he had more than enough guilt on his heart to be able to stand the blood of innocents added to that if he had kept hunting while grieving the loss that Sam knew he’d never replace.</p><p>He had burned the fake ID’s when he made the final choice to stop hunting. He kept his small keepsake box with photos and other special items that he could never bear to destroy or throw out, but that was it.</p><p>The weapons in the Impala’s trunk remained locked down even after Sam settled down in a small Midwestern town, parking the car that had never felt right again without Dean behind the wheel. He kept it cleaned, maintained, and polished, because doing that still allowed Sam to feel some connection to Dean.  And, to be honest, it would sometimes make him smile remembering all the times that Dean had threatened dire consequences from beyond if Sam did not take care of the car after he was gone.</p><p>He had cut ties with anyone from their past life not only because he was worried about danger finding him but because it still hurt to have Dean brought up even in casual mention much less a full conversation or memory like Jody had innocently done the final time he had gone to Sioux Falls to see her and the girls.</p><p>A piece of Sam was proud that a little of their legacy would carry on as Jody told him that Claire was still hunting. Alex and Patience would help her when not busy with their own lives, and, if something came up on her or Donna’s door, it was handled.</p><p>Then the former Sheriff of Sioux Falls had innocently brought up the memory of the first time she’d met them, and it had taken all Sam had not to break right then and there.</p><p>Returning home, Sam tried to forget. To carry on in the only way he knew how, even if the pain of the grief never left.</p><p>That pain stayed with him in some ways as the years began to pass. It was always there in the background, even as the constant grief slowly healed.  It was there when he went back to school to finally complete his degree. It stayed when he passed the bar exam, because he knew, even though he had money from stashes Dean had started to keep and had left to him, Sam would eat the barrel of the pistol he still kept close if he wasn’t doing something.</p><p>It stayed even when he slowly, finally gave in and allowed himself to date. He had long since given up on his old dream of a family and the white picket fence, not feeling like he would ever be able to let his heart be so vulnerable to the pain of loss again. But one night, Sam had dreamed of seeing Dean. In the dream, his brother had told him that he didn’t want him to spend the rest of his life alone and lonely, and that he hoped Sam could finally find that normal, safe life that he had always wished for when he was younger and maybe even pass the name Winchester onto the next generation.</p><p>Sam had woken up sobbing, but once again could almost feel a warm touch on his hand and the smell of Dean’s aftershave and had understood the message.</p><p>He had met Victoria as a client looking to get away from an abusive husband. Sam had helped with her case, and it was one of the few times he had called on an old friend to make sure the ex-husband understood to stop the stalking.</p><p>She was a nice woman, pretty, and also understanding when, on the anniversary of Dean’s death, Sam got drunk in his grief like he did every year. That night, he might have said a bit too much about what his life had been before, and he never did know if Victoria believed it all or not. She never pushed for more details until Sam was ready to talk more about it.</p><p>There was mutual attraction that blossomed into a love they shared, and even passion.  But despite that, Sam still felt that part of his very soul was still missing, that he could never fully give himself to her as the part of him that had been Dean had never fully healed.  He talked with her about it, and it had shocked Sam when she had merely smiled and kissed him, saying she understood and accepted that part of Sam would always be with the brother he had loved who was now long dead. They married and settled into a peaceful and happy life together, and if Sam at times turned melancholy and seemed to drift a bit in his own mind, she was there to bring him back from the dark places his mind would sometimes take him.  <br/><br/>The house Sam built was something he designed himself with aspects of both the cabin Rufus Turner had that they had stayed at as well as an interior design that reminded him more of Bobby Singer’s home where he and Dean had spent so much time before it was destroyed.</p><p>The first time he looked at the photo of him, Dean, and their parents from that time when John Winchester returned for that brief time nearly broke him but it was the photos of him and Dean that never failed to make his throat tighten and a tear to fall.Their son was born three years later and of course without any doubt in his mind, Sam had named him after the greatest and most important man in his entire world.</p><p>Dean Robert Winchester was born and raised in a house with loving parents. Sam made sure he got to do all the normal kid stuff that he himself had longed to be part of but never could be.  He was told all about the uncle he was named after, and, as he got older, about what his uncle and father had done before ‘retiring’ and leaving hunting.  Sam told him about his grandparents and great-grandparents the legacy that had been passed down through the generations.  He also explained the importance of and need for the anti-possession tattoo.</p><p>It had been years since he had thought of demons, but the Winchester in him, the side raised by his brother, knew never to get that complacent and that anything could happen one day, and he sat with his son as he got the same tattoo on his arm.  He never wanted to raise his child to be a hunter and a life of pain and grief and loss, but he also did not want him to be blind to what was out there, especially being a Winchester. What his son decided to do with that knowledge in the future would be up to him. </p><p>Dean was smart like Sam with the dark looks of Victoria, but Sam could almost see his brother’s sarcastic and snarky side come out in the boy sometimes, and it never failed to make him smile, even if he tried to hide it.</p><p><em>“Where does he get that attitude from?”</em> she had asked in frustration after their then teenage son had started to notice girls and was also getting into fights more.</p><p>Sam had just been heading to the garage, where his stewing 17-year-old had stormed off to, when he stopped on the steps to think.  He smiled a bit as he glanced back. <em>“His uncle,”</em> he replied and once again felt a stab of pain in his heart at the same time as a rush of fond memories washed over him.</p><p>The day he buried Victoria after she’d lost the battle with an incurable cancer, Sam had left the house to the mourners and retreated to the garage and the safety of the still new-looking Impala.</p><p>He was older now, so he had a harder time getting in, but once he did, he removed the glasses that had been another thing that had come with age and slowly, almost hesitantly, put his hands on the wheel. He let the wave of grief he knew by now to expect whenever he sat behind the wheel wash over him.</p><p>Sam knew it wouldn’t be much longer before he hopefully got his most desired final wish. He hadn’t told Dean yet what the doctors had found in his lungs and liver, not wanting to upset his son this soon after losing his mother. He hadn’t told anyone and didn’t plan to as Sam was now content with how things were and only wanted one final thing.</p><p>He lived long enough to see his son grow into a man who had taken an interest in hunting even though Sam had made him promise not to let it take over his life. As his health declined, Sam gave all of the journals he had kept over the years, along with their father’s, to his son. He had also told him the location of the bunker and how to reach out to others in the still connected community that Sam knew he could trust with this boy that carried so much of both of the Winchesters in him even though he had never met his uncle.</p><p>That night, Sam knew his time was coming to an end. He had insisted on his bed being moved into the living room under the mantle with all the photos that had been important to him. He had also asked his son to put the broken watch that he kept in the box beside him on his wrist. It hadn’t run in nearly forty years as it had stopped the night Dean had actually took his last breath.</p><p>The house was nearly silent except for the machines near his bed and the sounds only Sam could hear.</p><p>Classic rock music, the familiar purr of an engine with Legos in its heater, and a laugh that had been one of Sam’s first memories. Only he could hear these sounds, and he knew it alarmed the nurses that had been by, because he had dimly heard them offer to give him medicine for the pain he must be in from a body wracked with both old age and disease.</p><p>“No, he doesn’t need drugs<em>.</em>” Dean had replied softly from where he stood in the next room to look in at his father with a sad smile. “He’s ready to go home. He’s ready to go to where I think he’s always longed to be. With my uncle.”</p><p>Ever since he’d been a boy old enough to understand about love, pain, and loss, he had understood that a piece of his father’s heart was never completely settled or at peace with the family that he loved dearly.</p><p>Dean understood that his father had refused treatment for so long because he did want to finally be reunited with the brother that he had loved and lost and never completely been able to let go. It was now only a matter of time. Recalling the story of his uncle’s death, he took a shaky breath before stepping into the room to approach the bed.</p><p>“Dad?” he spoke quietly, sitting down and noticing the chill in the room but choosing to ignore it as he understood.</p><p>Seeing Sam’s eyes open a little to look at him, the young man with shoulder length dark hair and a smile laid his hand over the one Sam had laying on his stomach. “Dad, it’s okay,” he said with tears in his voice as this was never going to be an easy moment. “It’s okay. You can go<em>.</em>”</p><p>Sam looked through cloudy eyes at his son one final time, hearing those words that were still so familiar to him as he’d said them to his own dying brother to give Dean the courage to let go of him and let go. Offering a tired, weak smile at his son, Sam closed his eyes as the heart monitor beside him began offering its shrill sound of alarm but none of the present nurses came because Sam had ordered nothing to be done when his heart stopped beating.</p><p>Dean sat there for another few moments, watching his father’s face as it seemed to relax and gave another tight smile. “Be at peace, Dad,” he whispered, tears on his face as he reached up to wipe the single tear that had fallen to Sam’s face. “Go be with him. Go be with your brother.”</p><p>Bright light, warm air and a light, fresh smelling breeze was what Sam opened his eyes to next. He had a brief moment of confusion as it took his mind a second or three to catch up with what might be happening, and then nothing else mattered except the deep, husky voice that spoke from somewhere and Sam Winchester knew that he’d finally come home.</p><p>“Hey, Sammy.”</p><p>
  <strong>The End</strong>
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